


Sir

by Iliad06



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iliad06/pseuds/Iliad06
Summary: It took a while for Torveld to find everything he needed. Erasmus is the perfect sub, even if he doesn't always think so.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a series of one shots about Torveld and Erasmus in an established sub/dom relationship. The story won't be continuous, and may jump around in time. I will add more chapters as more ideas come to mind. The work will eventually include Explicit chapters, hence the rating now.

Torveld can’t shake it: the anger that simmers under his skin. He tightens his jaw and clenches his fists around the steering wheel as he turns into his neighborhood. Being the CEO of a large marketing firm is difficult on the best day, but today was worse than usual. Their biggest client contract was in negotiations, a senior employee had missed a vital deadline, and traffic had been worse than usual due to an accident, making Torveld’s easy half hour commute take double that time. He pulls into the driveway of a quaint house at the end of the street and shuts off the car. He takes a moment to breath, hoping to clear some of the tension out of his body before he goes inside. It works, though not as effectively as he would like, and it is with the thought that there is always one thing that can make him feel better that he leaves the car and lets himself into the house.

The house is quiet when he shuts the door behind him, exactly as he prefers. He leaves his shoes in the small wooden cubby next to a pair of pristine white slip-ons and makes his way through the entry to the kitchen. On the island sits a small salad, a glass of water, and a plate of lasagna, still steaming. He feels a small part of his anger dissipate at the scene, once again exactly to his liking.

He ignores the food and steps around the island into the open living room, desperate to see the one person he knows can truly make him forget his anger. Something settles in his chest when he finally sees his perfect sub. Erasmus kneels on a small pillow next to the table in front of the sofa. He’s completely nude and seems at ease with his hands behind his back, spine straight, and shoulders lifted back. On the table next to his elbow lays a thin leather collar. Erasmus’s eyes were closed, but open slowly when he hears Torveld step into the room. He looks up, but not past Torveld’s shoulders, and smiles softly. 

“Welcome home, sir,” he says, voice soft as a whisper. 

Torveld crosses the room and squats in front of Erasmus. The younger man stays perfectly still, honey eyes trained on the area around Torveld’s collarbone. He’s perfect and Torveld wishes he could take Erasmus into his arms and kiss him, but his anger from the day still sits too close to the surface and he worries he would be too rough right now after Erasmus has been so wonderful.

Instead, he picks up the collar from the table and wraps it around Erasmus’s thin neck. He feeds the black strap through the dark metal buckle and secures it at the most worn hole. Some days he will make it tighter, to tease Erasmus with the press of leather as soft as butter at his throat, but today his anger may cloud his attention to his sub’s discomfort. He hooks a finger into the collar to check the tightness and can feel Erasmus’s pulse flutter beneath his skin. 

“Too tight?” he asks. Erasmus stays silent, knows he doesn’t have permission to speak more, and shakes his head.

“You can look up.” Honey eyes flick up to meet his finally, full of tenderness and trust that makes Torveld’s heart pound.

It’s heady, the feeling that rushes through Torveld in that moment. Erasmus is perfect for him, obedient, trusting, and so eager to please. He looks so pretty with the thin black collar wrapped around his neck, framed by blonde curls. A desire to yank Erasmus’s hair, mark him up and ruin that pretty, pristine image overwhelms Torveld.

Torveld pushes himself up abruptly and goes into the kitchen before he does something stupid like see how far Erasmus’s trust can be pushed. He’s too angry to play tonight, knows he’d hurt Erasmus more than the younger man would enjoy, and that Erasmus would let him.

It’s dangerous, his anger, and the more he tries to breathe past it, the more frustrated he gets that it sits stubbornly in his chest tightening his shoulders and arms with tension. He aches to hurt something, but he won’t do that to his sub. Not like this. He takes one more deep breath and lets it out in a shuddering sigh before he grabs the water, lasagna, and a fork and goes back to the living room. 

Erasmus hasn’t moved from the pillow, not even to bring his hands in front of his body. Torveld sits on the sofa and places the plate on the table where the collar was moments ago.

“Have you eaten dinner?” he asks as he cuts off a corner of the lasagna. Erasmus shakes his head and watches silently as Torveld takes the bite. It’s delicious, as usual, and Torveld hums at the mix of creamy ricotta, fresh basil, and tomato.

“You know that when I’m late you can eat, right?”

Erasmus nods. Torveld sighs and smiles, brushing soft curls back from Erasmus’s neck so he can cup his palm over the leather collar and rub his thumb back and forth at the hinge of Erasmus’s jaw. Honey eyes droop closed and he presses just slightly into Torveld’s hand. 

“Scoot closer.” Erasmus shuffles forward onto the wood floor to kneel at Torveld’s thigh, where he usually perches to share dinner. His hands come forward, one to rest in his lap and one to wrap around Torveld’s ankle, an anchor of touch the sub needs. It became obvious early on in their arrangement that Erasmus craved physical contact, even when he wanted to follow orders and be good for Torveld. Torveld amended their contract to allow for Erasmus to grasp him when needed without asking as long as the touch didn’t interfere with their play. For his part, Torveld loved touching Erasmus too, but also enjoyed the build up of making them both wait.

Torveld cuts off another bite. “Eat, Eras,” he says as he holds out the fork. Erasmus straightens a little and takes the offered bite. They eat in silence, taking turns with each mouthful until the lasagna is gone. It’s halfway through the meal that Torveld realizes this is exactly what he needed after the terrible day at the office. His anger is still there, still closer to the surface than he would like, but as the silence stretches and Erasmus looks up at him with adoring eyes, it cools to something more manageable.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to Erasmus’s forehead. “Put the dish in the sink while I change.” He watches as Erasmus stands and winces at the pink tinge on his sub’s knees, an oversight on his part. Erasmus doesn’t seem sore as he takes the plate and walks into the kitchen so Torveld tries not to let his anger turn inward.

Torveld goes into their bedroom to finally divest himself of his business clothes and change into something more comfortable. He pulls on sweatpants and an old t-shirt that reads “Patras University” in fading letters. 

When he enters the living room again, Erasmus is already kneeling on his cushion. At his elbow, instead of the television remote Torveld was expecting, lays a sleek leather paddle. Torveld freezes and eyes Erasmus, but the sub stares down at his own knees and waits in silence. The paddle is Torveld’s favorite, not Erasmus’s. It stings a little more than Erasmus usually likes, but the sub will push himself to handle it for a couple of swats to make his dom proud. Torveld loves the pink hue that blooms across Erasmus’s skin from the first smack, not needing the build up some of the other paddles require to get the same beautiful rosy color. 

“What’s this?” Torveld asks as he takes his seat on the sofa again. “Speak, Eras,” he adds when Erasmus stays silent. He usually gives Erasmus permission to speak during dinner, but tonight he needed the peace and quiet after the day he had.

“You’re angry,” Erasmus says softly like that explains everything. Torveld’s brows furrow together as he tries to puzzle out the vague explanation. Erasmus shifts on his knees and blushes. “You can take it out on me if you want.”

Torveld’s eyes widen. “Oh Eras,” he breathes and his heart clenches as the young man drops his chin to his chest. “Come up here.” He pats his knee and Erasmus climbs into his lap, head down and mortified blush staining his cheeks.

Torveld wraps his arms around that thin waist and pulls Erasmus further forward to rest in the curve of his lap. He strokes Erasmus’s back, fingers playing over the warm skin in gentle paths. Slowly, Erasmus raises his head to look at Torveld, eyes wary, which just makes Torveld’s heart clench.

“I did have a bad day, but I would never want to take that out on you.” 

“I know,” Erasmus says. “I just want to make you feel better.” He chews on his bottom lip and Torveld has to squash the desire to bite the same lip.

“You did make me feel better, just by following our routine.” Torveld buries his fingers in Erasmus’s hair and tilts his head back until Erasmus’s eyes meet his again. “You were so good for me today.”

Erasmus’s flushes and his chest rises and falls just a little faster. Praise is easily one of Erasmus’s biggest kinks, as eager as he is to be the perfect sub for Torveld, and even after years of this relationship and their dynamic, a simple sentence can still make him flush with pride.

Erasmus wiggles forward a little, pert backside rubbing over Torveld’s cock in his own desire to get closer. It makes Torveld chuckle and swell with such deep affection for the sweet man in his lap. He leans forward to finally capture Erasmus’s lips in a claiming kiss, still a little rougher than usual, but nothing the sub can’t handle. Erasmus sighs and relaxes fully against him, hands coming up to grip Torveld’s shoulders as he submits fully to Torveld’s mouth. 

It clicks then for Torveld that his anger probably had Erasmus on edge, desperate to make the man feel better but not knowing how to do so without having permission to speak. He makes a mental note to revisit their contract tomorrow to account for his oversight and pulls back from Erasmus’s lips.

“I do have an idea of how you can make me feel even better, if you would like.” 

“Yes, sir,” Erasmus rushes to say. Torveld grins and nudges Erasmus’s shoulders. The blonde sinks to his knees on the floor as Torveld spreads his legs and pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down just enough to pull out his half-hard cock. Erasmus wets his lips and flicks eager eyes up to Torveld’s face, completely still on his knees.

It’s with that image, Erasmus wanting but waiting on his knees, that the anger finally disappears from Torveld’s body, taking all the tension and frustration with it. Work can wait when he has such a pretty, perfect sub at home.

He cups Erasmus’s cheek and leans down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re so perfect for me,” he breathes and loves the way Erasmus’s eyes light up with happiness from only inches away.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of the front door opening jerks Erasmus out of sleep. He lays on the couch, something he is allowed to do without asking permission when Torveld is at work, his cheek pressed to a pillow and snuggled under the thickest blanket they own, one he pulled from the pile of winter blankets in the linen closet just a little bit ago. He sits up slowly, body achy as he tries to remember what woke him. The familiar clack of dress shoes over wood reaches his ears and fills him with a splash of dread. Torveld is home early and Erasmus doesn’t have dinner ready.

He throws back the blanket and scrambles off the sofa to kneel on his cushion, where he’s supposed to greet Torveld every day. His head spins a little and he tries to gulp air to clear it. His throat burns and he snaps his mouth shut against the pain. Torveld steps into the living room, brows furrowed and lips turned down in a worried frown. Erasmus shifts to put his hands behind his back and in that moment feels the slide of cotton against his skin. His stomach churns with fear when he realizes he’s still dressed. He vaguely remembers not feeling well and deciding the best way to feel better was to pull on one of Torveld’s softest t-shirts. It’s so big on him it hangs off one of his shoulders and falls to the tops of his thighs. He remembers thinking it looked cute with his little boxer briefs but hadn’t planned on showing Torveld until after he greeted Torveld like he was supposed to. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says in a rush, even though his throat aches with the effort. He grips the hem of the shirt and tries to pull it off. In his haste, it gets twisted and he struggles to pull his arms through. “I didn’t expect you home early. I’m so sorry.” 

“Erasmus, still,” Torveld commands in a stern voice. Erasmus stops moving, stops wiggling to try and free himself from the twisted cotton. He shouldn’t have spoken. Torveld’s going to be mad and Torveld deserves a better sub, a sub who can listen and get things right and—

Gentle hands untangle the shirt and tug it back down to fall around his thighs before guiding his arms down to rest in his lap. Erasmus hangs his head, staring at Torveld’s green tie instead of at his master’s face. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Torveld’s hand raise. He doesn’t like being slapped, but he deserves any punishment Torveld wants to use since he broke so many rules today. He closes his eyes and waits for the hand strike him.

It doesn’t. Instead, he feels the back of that hand press along his cheek, then his forehead. Torveld clicks his tongue.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. A lot of words spring to mind to answer Torveld’s question. His whole body is sore like he tensed his muscles too long during an intense session. His throat burns when he breathes or swallows. Now that he’s not under the blanket, shivers course over his body and he can feel his arms and legs covered in bumps from the cold. It’s a lot to describe and his brain feels foggy trying to sort through it all.

“Cold,” Erasmus says, trying to use the least amount of words since his throat feels like it’s on fire.

“Have you been sleeping all day?”

“Yes, sir.” Erasmus drops his chin further. He was supposed to do laundry but he doesn’t think he even moved the first load from the washer into the dryer.

“What was the last thing you ate, love?”

“Yogurt, granola, and berries.”

“Eras,” Torveld breathes and Erasmus flinches at the clear disappointment. “That’s what I made you for breakfast almost 12 hours ago.”

“Wha—oh um…” Erasmus wrings his hands together in his lap as his brain tries to muddle through what Torveld just said. “I f-fell asleep and I wasn’t expecting you home early and I can—”

“Erasmus.” The one word makes Erasmus stop fidgeting, although he can’t still the shivers that run up and down his spine. “I’m not early, love, and you’re not in trouble. You’re sick.”

Erasmus looks up at the worried tone to see Torveld looking at him in concern.

“Sick?” he echoes and Torveld nods.

“You’re all flushed and you feel hot.”

“Oh…” Erasmus looks down at his hands. That explains why he feels so awful.

“C’mon,” Torveld says and pulls Erasmus to his feet. He guides the younger man to the couch and motions for him to sit. When Erasmus eyes the couch and then the cushion on the floor, Torveld nudges him forward. “Rest, love, it’s alright.”

Erasmus sinks into the corner of the couch and smiles when Torveld covers him with the fluffy blanket, taking care to tuck it completely around Erasmus’s body so everything but his head is covered. Torveld presses a kiss to his forehead.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks, “Crackers and soup, or chicken and rice?”

“Just soup. My throat hurts a lot.”

“Soup it is.” Torveld kisses his forehead again and Erasmus wishes he would kiss his lips but doesn’t want to make the older man sick too. 

Erasmus burrows deeper into the blanket as Torveld leaves the living room to start their dinner. He feels a little guilty since dinner is one of his duties, but the feeling goes away rather quickly when he swallows and his throat sears in pain. He closes his eyes as he listens to the noise of Torveld puttering around the kitchen, moving pots and searching through the pantry. 

At some point he must’ve fallen asleep again because the next thing he knows, the couch cushion dips beneath Torveld’s weight as the brunette sits at his side, already changed into comfortable clothes. Steam rises from two soup bowls on the table and a package of crackers and bottle of pain medicine sits nearby. Torveld lifts one of the bowls and spoons and takes care to blow gently at the mouthful before extending it to Erasmus. Erasmus opens his mouth and slurps a little at the soup, wincing when he swallows and feels the hot liquid splash down his throat like lava.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Torveld says as he scoops another bite of soup onto the spoon. “If I had known you were sick, I would have stayed home.”

Erasmus shakes his head so hard his curls bounce. Torveld’s job is important and he needs to be there so the work doesn’t pile up and he doesn’t get stressed. It’s like the older man can read his mind because he smiles as he lifts another spoonful up to Erasmus. 

“I already told my team I would be out tomorrow. I want to take care of you.”

Erasmus can feel his cheeks burn with embarrassment and he wonders for a second if it shows past the glow of the fever. Torveld hums and feeds him another spoonful, watching carefully that he swallows the noodles and carrot that made it onto the spoon. Erasmus winces as he swallows and his throat throbs.

“I know, love. Just eat some more noodles so I can give you some medicine.”

“Yes, sir,” Erasmus croaks.

“Baby, we aren’t playing right now. You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’”

Erasmus fiddles with the edge of the blanket, not looking up even as he accepts another bite of soup from his dom. “I know, but I like to.”

Torveld smiles and presses a chaste kiss to his hot cheek. He wishes again that they could kiss for real but knows he doesn’t want Torveld to get sick too. The older man is taking enough of a risk sitting pressed against him on the couch. 

Erasmus manages to eat only half the bowl before his stomach churns and his throat protests having to swallow anymore. Torveld passes him a fruity sports drink to wash down some medicine with and Erasmus happily drinks half of that as well, enjoying the feeling of cold liquid on his sore throat, even if he knows that the sugar may make his throat worse later. The whole time, Torveld’s careful gaze tracks his every movement to make sure he isn’t in too much pain.

When he’s done with the drink, he passes the bottle back to Torveld and snuggles into his dom’s side, pulling the blanket tight around his own shoulders. The television clicks on, filling the living room with the soft droll of the evening news.

“What do you want to watch?” Torveld asks as he wraps an arm around Erasmus and the blanket, pulling the smaller man tighter to his side.

“You pick,” Erasmus mumbles, eyes closed and already drowsy.

“Alright, something easy so you won’t miss any of our shows.” Erasmus hums and snuggles a little further into the older man, content with the considerate answer from his dom. The last thing he’s aware of is a kiss pressed to the top of his head before he drifts off into the exhausted sleep of the sick, knowing Torveld will take care of him.


End file.
